


Everyone, Shut Up.

by orphan_account



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Cuddling, Fluff, Guns, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, John has noise sensitivity, Kind of but still adults, M/M, Young Arthur Morgan, Young John Marston, can be read as platonic, not proof read
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-14
Updated: 2020-01-14
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:17:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22260118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: John is not having a good time and is destined to break down at some point. Arthur wants to help with that.
Relationships: John Marston & Arthur Morgan, John Marston/Arthur Morgan
Comments: 2
Kudos: 109





	Everyone, Shut Up.

**Author's Note:**

> It's 2 am soon and i gotta get up in 5 hours. Anyway here's this shit.

One, two, three. John clenches his jaw. One, two, three. Acid burns in his chest and he wants to punch something. One, two -, the arguing stops yet he feels more annoyed he didn't get to finish his count. He strains to hear something else, anything loud enough. Someone slams down a book, creating a perfect thud of anger. Three. The tension in his body slowly evaporates the longer it's silent. He shifts and tries to get comfortable enough to sleep again but then there's a bottle shattering. He hates drunken yelling the most because it's nearly impossible to find a rhythm to it. Arthur is there too, his deep voice so slurred he can't make a head nor tail of it. 

John twists on the cot to tun a side and puts his hands over his ears. He needs to sleep and for once he actually tries to. Too bad his mind and body are too used to barreling through life no matter how hard it punches him on the way. They're telling him to just give up and go join them. His head aches and his eyebags feel like a bag of bricks as he gets up. He might collapse in the end but he needs the noise to blur out, nothing a little whiskey won't fix.

The signature rumbling and chugging of a train doesn't bother John, not even the loud whistle when the engine blows out smoke. But add to that Dutch's non-existent inside voice, Hosea's endless rambling, Arthur's laugh and John wishes he was tied up on the tracks. He can't cover his ears here because somehow that isn't socially acceptable but puffing smoke into everyone's lungs and talking politics is. He leans against the window although the shaking is uncomfortable, atleast it works as a distraction.

Arthur's voice wakes him and he wants to punch his teeth out. The man won't shut up and it takes until Arthur shakes him that he realizes it's his name.

"John, John!"

He grits his teeth but makes a noise of Acknowledgement. Too much at once, too loud. He had slumped enough for his right ear to close up but as soon as he sat straight noise practically flooded in. It only lasted a few seconds because thankfully the leaders had shut up and dived into a newspaper. He turns to Arthur with an annoyed frown, they aren't even there yet.

"Fall asleep again and I won't wake you." The older man says as if he only woke him because he was bored.

"Fuck off, just shut up forever, thank you." He went back to his original position though with a doubt he would sleep.

"Careful with your language son, he might throw you in a lake again." Dutch mumbles and the two others snicker. The idea of drowning is starting to sound enticing.

It's been long enough for John to start desperately listing things that won't make his ear drums burst. He stresses about going to saloons, the piano and yelling nauseating already from outside. One day at camp he even suggested that Hosea should cut off Dutch's tongue and the older man laughed heartily. Arthur isn't a loud personality usually but there are days that instead of working he decides to stick every stick into John's ass. He snaps at him of course because he's tired and tense and every time the other man looks just a bit more concerned.

John can handle gunfire, the momentum and adrenaline of it is numbing. Or atleast it is for a while. It's just been a bad day and he's about ready to dig himself a grave. With every shot he's getting more and more tense, to the point where he thinks even dynamite would be pathetic. He does his part and then ducks into cover, heaving up his small breakfast. His ears are ringing but that's how it's been nearly his whole life. What's new though is this inability to process his surroundings correctly, he has realized. He can't name it but it makes him panicky and the urge to flee everything and everyone is only getting stronger.

So he tries to leave one night. It wasn't an easy decision but the fear of him losing his mind and being useless wins. He finishes stuffing things into a saddle bag and pets his horse, who was always quiet and peaceful. "We take care of each other, huh?" John whispers. He hears footsteps behind him but tries to be unsuspicious.

"Where do you think you're goin'?" Arthur's gruff voice is loud in the silent night but not too much. "Hunting, maybe drinking, what's it to you?" He bites back with the little vigor he can manage. Instead of getting mad at him and showing him hid place, Arthur's voice is soft with concern. "Don't bullshit me, Marston."

John swallows around the lump in his throat, when did he get this weak, how can he make it stop? "It doesn't matter, I'm useless." His voice breaks and he quickly starts to pet the horse again to will away the tears. Arthur Morgan isn't to be bullshitted though and he finds himself being turned around. He immediatly looks away from Arthur's piercing gaze. "What's gotten' into you?"

"I'm fine, idiot, mind your own business." This isn't how he wants to act but he's been on defensive mode for too long. "John, you ain't well. I want to help. Tell me what's wrong?"

John bites his lips until it breaks. "Let me go, I'll figure it out."

"Let you run away knowin' you're too stubborn for your own good t' return after what ever this 's? I don't think so." Arthur's close enough that if either of them took a step forward it'd be chest to chest. Usually it would have been intimidating but now it makes him feel slightly more secure. He can't see the camp over the bulk of him but it's still too close. "I have to get away, you don't understand." He turns and mounts up but Arthur grabs his arm. "Then let me come with you." There those unique eyes are again and this time he can't look away.

Their ride is silent and John thanks god for that. His headache from the ealier near outburst is bleeding away. Arthur glances at him ocassionally but lets John pick them a spot. It takes a good hour but finally he settles on a small grass clearing in the woods. He feels exhausted to the bones, only wanting to lie down. He puts up the tent and doesn't mind that Arthur helps wordlessly, or that he climbs in too. They lie facing each other and it should be awkward but John wants to be done with feeling anything, feelings are a burden.

"I think you should talk about it." Arthur whispers into the dark. John looks at him with droopy eyes. "Why, you think it'd help?" Arthur nods. "I talk to Hosea all the time, I write stuff down and chat with Boadicea."

John wants all of this mess to disappear but it's hard to begin, gladly Arthur doesn't push him. "I can't stand noise." He admits and continues after the other man nods again. "It's gotten worse over time and now I can't sleep nor eat properly. Half the time I want to either run away or punch someone 'til their face caves in." Frustration bubbles up in his chest. Talking out loud starts to bring everything to the surface and soon enough he's crying. Somehow he manages to keep his voice stable enough for Arthur to understand. "I panic and I tense up for no reason. I get mad at Dutch for fighting with Hosea and I snap at you for being yourself."

Arthur inches in closer and tucks his hands around John, pulling him against his chest when there's no protest. John keeps his face pressed into his shirt and lets the tears run freely now but he doesn't sob or tremble, only sighs shakily when Arthur strokes his back. "I don't think it's anythin' we can't work out. They argue and I pick at ya' but you're family. And you certainly ain't useless."

John feels extremely stupid for reacting like this, he wants to find the cause of all this but his mind is nothing but haze right now as he lets out his bottled up emotions. Arthur eventually turns to lay on his back and tuck John against him. He stays willingly in the warm embrace, basks in the familiar scent that brings him comfort. 

This is nice, he thinks. But a part of him knows it's not going to last forever. The thought of going back and possibly having to pretend he's all fine and dandy now is unpleasant. 

"I think I just hate everything."

Arthur pats his back in sympathy.


End file.
